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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26711476">advent</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythopoeia/pseuds/Mythopoeia'>Mythopoeia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>All That Glitters Gold Rush!AU: The Full Series [305]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works &amp; Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Brothers, Fluff, Gen, Ghost Twins, Hurt/Comfort, Kittens, Mithrim, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, christmas is coming</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:02:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,486</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26711476</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythopoeia/pseuds/Mythopoeia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Maitimo said I am taller,</i> Amras thinks in a rush, despairingly, and Amrod understands even though he does not speak aloud—of course he understands, that was always their way. <i>Mamai</i> said it was because they were twins.</p><p>Amrod understands, but he is not sympathetic. <i>You used to want to grow taller,</i> he teases, merciless. <i>You always wanted to be taller than me.</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Amras &amp; Amrod (Tolkien), Amras &amp; Maedhros | Maitimo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>All That Glitters Gold Rush!AU: The Full Series [305]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1300685</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>advent</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is very cold but still not as cold as winter ought to be. Amras wanders down to the lakeside alone, and the water is not even frozen over; it is pale grey like the sky, and restless beneath the wind. He stands with his hands in his pockets to warm them, thinking. He’s always thinking these days, thinking too much—especially when he has just been to visit Maitimo. That is why he does not visit often, maybe. </p><p>Maitimo had smiled at him, when he looked up to see it was Amras in the doorway, not Caranthir or Celegorm. <i>Hullo, Amras,</i> he had said, in almost his old way. </p><p><i>He is getting better,</i> Amrod in the water says, encouragingly. <i>I told you he would.</i> </p><p><i>He never thinks I am you,</i> is all Amras can think, to that. He sits down on the lakeshore and wraps his arms around himself tightly, hands to elbows, looking out over the water. <i>I don’t know if I want him to. But he never does.</i> </p><p><i>That isn’t what has you upset, silly,</i> his Amrod chides him, and Amras swallows hard, blinking. </p><p><i>Maitimo said I am taller,</i> He thinks in a rush, despairingly, and Amrod understands even though he does not speak aloud—of course he understands, that was always their way. <i>Mamai</i> said it was because they were twins. </p><p>Amrod understands, but he is not sympathetic. <i>You used to want to grow taller,</i> he teases, merciless. <i>You always wanted to be taller than me.</i> </p><p><i>Yes,</i> Amras says, <i>but.</i> </p><p>He doesn’t finish that sentence. He just sits with the calm whiteness in his head for a little while, the white water and white sky, until he is hungry again, and then he goes back indoors. </p><p>Amrod watches him all the while, in silence. He understands, of course. </p><p>He always will. That is the—the nice thing, about twins. </p><p>*</p><p>The kittens in the barn are curious, scampery, and proper whirligigs of mischief, as Maitimo might say. Sticks named the spotted one Spot, naturally, and Frog named the grey one Red, not so naturally. When Amras arrived to visit today, Frog immediately scooped Red up off the floor and handed him over for Amras to cuddle before returning to ginger Tig-Pig, his current favorite. There is one kitten still unnamed, the fluffy black one with the white socks. Maitimo is going to name that one. He promised so, weeks ago. </p><p>Amras has memories of playing with puppies, of course, from back when Huan was born. This is the first time he has ever spent an extended time with kittens, however, and he is surprised by how much he enjoys them. He settles on the dirt floor with Red cradled closely in his arms, petting the small head with his thumb, making the pointed little ears waggle. The kitten is sleepy, and content to be petted, while its siblings romp about in the straw. </p><p>Celegorm had found kittens in a flour sack once, a good many years ago. Amras himself had been still a baby in dresses, with long-curling hair Maitimo had been fond of playing with. The dripping wet sack hanging from Celegorm’s hand had upset Amras, even though at the time he had not even fully understood what it meant; he had seen how upset Celegorm was, and had been frightened by his brother’s tears. </p><p>Even Maitimo had not been able to calm Celegorm down, that day, but he had helped Celegorm dig a little grave in the orchard, and Amras had been badly jealous of the attention. Amrod had been cross, too, but he had been offended more by how Maitimo had not allowed them to take a peep in the sack. </p><p><i>Imagine,</i> the Amrod in his head says, amused: <i>Imagine not knowing what drowned was.</i> </p><p>*</p><p>Amras does not see Mollie, during his time in the stable. He has not seen her in two days. It could be he is only missing her about the place, in all the hubbub over Christmas, and she is simply busy in the kitchens when he is not there, or with the laundry. But—she prefers to take her meals in the quiet stable, and she had promised to mind the kittens. Frog, when asked, says he has not seen her either, and Amras and Estrela have been the only ones feeding the kittens, the last few days. </p><p>The unease builds like a headache, and Amras only realizes he is gnawing at his thumbnail when he sees Frog staring in fascination. </p><p>“Don’t copy me,” Amras tells him hastily, hiding his hand behind his back. “That’s a bad habit, Frog. You don’t want to start it yourself.”</p><p>At Grandfather Finwe’s ceili so many years ago, Artanis had bragged meanly that she could tell Amrod and Amras apart merely by looking at the state of their fingernails. Amrod had begun biting his own nails after that, out of sheer spite. </p><p>All that had meant in the end was that Athair had rubbed both their fingers with liniment to break the habit. Only Amras had suffered for it; it had never really been Amrod’s habit to break. </p><p>Amrod, when thinking, had used to tug at his forelock. Athair had laughed at that habit, and called him <i>Little Gentleman.</i></p><p>“I mean it, Frog,” Amras says sternly, as he holds out a straw temptingly for Tig-Pig to pounce at. “If I catch you with ragged thumbs, you’ll be sorry. I’ll tell Russandol.”</p><p>He doesn’t like calling his brother by his—his slave name. But Frog gets a mulish, sullen look on his babyish face that means he is cowed by the threat, and that is good enough, at present. </p><p>*</p><p>Maitimo is glad to see him again. He is always glad. His eyes go wide and happy before his mouth even smiles, and Amras feels a funny twisting in his chest as he closes the door behind him, because—he is glad, too.  </p><p>“Hullo, Maitimo,” Amras says, settling in the bedside chair. He wants to pull his legs up and sit cross-legged, as he used to, but his legs are long enough now to send him toppling, if he were to try. Instead, he fidgets. </p><p>“That’s a braw collection of blankets,” he offers, looking at the many layers piled over his brother’s thin body. It looks like half of Mithrim’s entire linen closet. Maitimo smiles again, a little wry this time. </p><p>“That’s Fingon’s work,” he says, smoothing the top quilt absently with his left hand. “He says I’m in some danger of pneumonia, given my condition, and a generous dose of blankets is just the medicine for that, I suppose.”</p><p>“I’ve an extra blanket in my room,” Amras volunteers, immediately. “I can bring it next time.”</p><p>“No thank you, Ambarussa. I shouldn’t like to think of you going cold. And I can hardly get any warmer, I daresay.”</p><p>It is true Maitimo’s face is a little flushed, despite the chilly air. Amras resolves, privately, to give his blanket to Fingon next time he catches him in the hall, but he says no more about it. </p><p>Instead, he says: “What are you naming the kitten?”</p><p>“Eh?” Maitimo blinks.</p><p>“The black kitten,” Amras explains. He folds his arms, hands to elbows, and looks at his brother. “He’s a playful, mischievous tomcat, and he has green eyes, and four white socks. He hates being held but loves following at your ankles, and mewling for attention. He was the second to open his eyes. The others all have names, but he’s been waiting for you.”</p><p>Maitimo is quiet a moment, his eyes lowered.</p><p>“I am sorry, Amras,” he says at last, and he really does sound sorry. “I have not . . . Given it much thought. I shall consult with Celegorm tonight, perhaps; he has always had a gift for naming things. I am sure I can choose one to please you within a few days.”</p><p>“It’s a week ‘til Christmas,” Amras says softly, looking towards the window. The sweep of the hillside beyond is grey and stubbled with dry brown grass, dim in the evening light. It is only about four o’clock, outside the window, but it is full dark by five, these days. Nights are very long. </p><p>“Is it?” Maitimo whispers, hushed. His fingers have gone still upon the quilts. “I had not realized.”</p><p>“Do you think it will snow?” asks Amras. </p><p>He is still looking out the window, but he can see Maitimo’s starved profile turn away to the window too, a ghostly movement just at the corner of his eye. </p><p>“It shan’t feel like Christmas without snow,” Amras says, very quiet. </p><p>“No,” Maitimo sighs after another long silence, like all the breath is going out of him at once. “I don’t suppose it shall.”</p><p>His hand, his only hand, is fidgeting again, his fingers restless in his palm. </p><p>He does not seem to realize he said <i>Ambarussa.</i> </p><p>He does not say it again.</p>
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